


Al-Cid in Wonderland

by Kissy



Category: Final Fantasy XII
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-21
Updated: 2012-08-21
Packaged: 2017-11-12 14:25:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/492171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kissy/pseuds/Kissy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If Ivalice were a world of my own, everything would be nonsense. Nothing would be what it is, because everything would be what it isn't. And contrary wise, what is, it wouldn't be. And what it wouldn't be, it would. You see? A Christmas/Yule tale written as a gift for Quiddities on FFNet.  Rated for drug use, drunkenness, adult content, and adult language.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Al-Cid in Wonderland

_Well,_ thought Al-Cid to himself, _the Ambervale, this is not._ He crossed his arms across his hairy, half-bared chest. He hated Rabanastre – or rather, he hated how he could get lost in it, no matter how many times he had visited this sprawling city.

Al-Cid turned his countenance to his lovely little 'Bird'. "Tani...where are we?"

His girl checked their map. A few locals sniggered at the obvious tourists, but one glare from Al-Cid shut them up in a hurry. Tani flipped through the worn pages, tipped her glance to Al-Cid, and shrugged once.

Tani was a quiet one. Out of all his 'Birds', Tani never spoke a single word in his memory. Perhaps she was dazzled by his presence; most of his birds were. Eventually, though, his other assistants warmed to him. Tani, however...

"Fine," Al-Cid grumbled. He glanced at a passing Moogle. "How do I get to the Royal Compound from here?"

"You're in luck, _kupo_ ," the Moogle chirped. "You can take my Moogling station if you like...'twill take you to the Moogling closest to the Castle."

The Moogling station whirled, gleaming in the early-morning sun. It made the headache that had formed between Al-Cid's eyes worse. "And just where exactly is that?"

The Moogle simpered a bit. "Just outside the Compound, _kupo._ It's just a short walk from there. Not far."

" _How_ far?"

The Moogle shrugged. "A mile...maybe two. Like I said, not far at all. It's right by the Sandsea's entrance."

The Sandsea…? They had just _come_ from the Sandsea. Al-Cid's head rolled back, and he gazed heavenward. "Galtea wept."

The Moogle danced on his toes. "Well, _kupo_? Will you use the Moogling?"

"I suppose I have no choice," said Al-Cid. As they stepped onto the platform, Tani's countenance had taken on a cheesy, revolted cast. Those cursed Moogling stations always made her feel whoopsy. Al-Cid reached for her, and Tani gazed at him with unveiled gratitude. Her expression curdled when Al-Cid hooked his sunglasses from her cleavage.

"We've been fashionably late before," said Al-Cid as he donned his shades with a flourish. "Why change tradition now?"

-=-=-=-=-=-

"Lady Ashe," said Penelo, as she fidgeted in her ornate sitting room chair, "I'm honored that you've invited Vaan and I here to the Castle, but what is it that we've been invited _for_?"

The Queen of Dalmasca set her teacup down in its saucer. "In all honesty, I don't know myself." She smiled faintly at Vaan, as his hand twitched toward the platter of sweetbread and honeycomb that her attendants served with tea. She nodded, and Vaan fell to the mouth-watering breakfast tray. She returned her attention to Penelo. "Al-Cid asked me if I would call the 'leaders of the Resistance' together again, for he has an announcement to make."

Penelo clasped her hands between her knees. "That's funny – that's what Lord Larsa said in his last letter. He told Vaan and I that Uncle had news to share with us."

"Ah." Ashe raised one eyebrow sardonically. "Basch, you mean. Yes, he does have something to share with m...us." Her lips screwed together wryly as she crimsoned. "I wonder what news he wishes to share?"

"No idea. I'm dying to know myself," said Vaan through a sticky mouthful of honey. Ashe frowned at his lack of propriety, and Penelo smacked his shoulder. He threw his hands up in a warding-off gesture. "Sorry! Gods...I'm being serious. What news could he have that he couldn't share with the rest of us in a letter or a run-of-the-mill visit? Why all the pomp?"

-=-=-=-=-=-

Judge Magister Gabranth walked beside the little Emperor, the majesty of his blackened-steel armor gleaming darkly under the nigh-unbearable July sun. The Judge Magister grumbled a foul oath under his breath as he rolled his shoulders to re-adjust his gard-braces. The movement did nothing but make his pauldron grind against his armpits. Noah never mentioned that morning in Archades was _this_ intolerable in the summer.

Emperor Larsa smiled, as he glanced at Basch sidelong. "You _do_ know that it isn't necessary to wear your full-plate in the confines of the Imperial Compound, Lord Gabranth."

"'Tis the law, Majesty," Judge Magister Gabranth's helmet intoned sourly. "Far be it from me, that I would sully the word of Law. I must be ready to protect you at all times."

"Noah wasn't as sarcastic as you are – but he was close," said Larsa. He raised an eyebrow slowly at Basch. "He hated the summer too."

"I can't imagine why."

Larsa stopped waking at once; obediently, Basch followed suit. Larsa circled Basch's armored form and stopped before his massive armored body, his arms akimbo. "All right, Judge Magister. What's wrong?"

Basch said nothing. He knew better. Larsa may look sweet and innocent, but his young mind was a steel trap, and there was nothing you could do to escape its grasp once you found yourself unlucky enough to get caught there.

The moments wound themselves out, and Larsa tapped one red-booted foot with growing impatience. "You're making me angry, Judge Magister."

"'Tis personal, Lord Larsa. I'll not burden you with my problems." Basch sighed. "If His Highness wishes to know more, then...then it is problems of the heart." He crimsoned behind the Death's-head mask he wore, and for once thanked his lucky stars for its presence.

The little Emperor's lips quirked once. "I see. Well, then...I'll not bother you with such a personal matter again. Do me a favor, Lord Gabranth?"

"Yes, Highness?"

They began to walk again. Larsa crossed his thin arms across his equally thin chest. "Not that this should be an issue, due to recent events...but if you do not wish me to question you about the state of your love life, then I suggest you walk with a bit more spring in your step. You look like your pet cockatrice had been run over by a chocobo carriage."

An involuntary snort of mirth escaped Basch's lips. His predicament was much, much worse than a pet being squashed flat by a rampaging choco-cart – still, Larsa knew just what to say to diffuse any situation. Basch tilted his head down to the Emperor, and nodded imperceptibly.

When Al-Cid told Basch's – Ashe's – group of resistance fighters that Larsa would be difficult to control, he was right. Larsa's instincts were sharp, his mind full of righteous notions to join Ivalice together as one. Reminiscing, Basch smiled. He had held the same notion; when Larsa mentioned to him his plans for a unified Ivalice back in the days of the Rebellion, Basch approved.

He remembered, then, how his fellow freedom fighters made him feel. Those days, it wasn't difficult to reclaim the spark of his own youth, when surrounded by theirs. In the days of the Resistance, things were different than they were on this sweltering mid-morning in Archades.

Then, he felt like he could live forever; then, he felt like he was invincible. Then, like the others, he was full of righteous anger. The Archadian Empire was their sworn enemy, and the same white-hot fury sizzled through his nerve-endings as Ashe's, or Vaan's. For the first time, he had felt as young as the day he first crossed into Dalmasca. His comrades made him young, and now they were gone. They scattered to the Four Winds, and now he felt old.

The young Emperor's high, fine voice shook Basch out of his reverie. "Thinking about this afternoon's trip to Rabanastre, Lord Gabranth? This isn't about your news, is it?" Larsa asked.

Without looking up, Basch nodded. In a way, perhaps it was. "I dread telling the others."

Larsa shrugged. "Why?"

Basch shrugged. "Perhaps I do not want my news met with disapproval."

"When it comes to your happiness, Judge Magister," said Larsa; "you and only you are to be the author of it. Your friends may be like family to you, but that should not sway your decision about this..."

"I suppose not," said Basch. _But what will_ she _think of this?_ He then realized – suddenly, and with much malice – that he didn't care one whit what the Queen of Dalmasca thought of his news.

-=-=-=-=-=-

The Moogling Station by the Giza whirred into life, and Al-Cid and Tani were deposited unceremoniously before it. As Al-Cid picked himself off the dusty ground, Tani wobbled to the wall opposite the Station. She lay her hand on a circular metal panel embedded in the wall. Tani was most surprised when the metal panel slid up into the ceiling, and then she was on the ground again.

As she lay stunned in the giant doorway, Al-Cid stood beside her. " _Tch._ This isn't the Sandsea…oh. Are you all right?"

Tani sneered at Al-Cid, and presented her arm to him for assistance. He ignored it, and strode past her into Lowtown. "Well, at least it's ten degrees cooler in here," said Al-Cid. He walked further into the dim hallway, as Tani picked herself off the cool, tiled floor.

Now here was the type of hovel that Al-Cid loved to prowl. Here were the Humes and Seeq and Bangaa that had the very worst that life had dealt to them, and yet they enjoyed love and happiness and life.

A hearty guffaw startled Al-Cid out of his reverie, and grated at his nerves. He glanced to his right, where a Seeq wobbled with laughter. Al-Cid made a _moue_ of annoyance. The Seeq noticed his ire, and reached out with one meaty hand. He slapped Al-Cid on the shoulder hard enough to bring the swarthy nobleman to his knees.

As Tani helped Al-Cid find his footing, the Seeq chuckled. "Why so blue, friend?"

"I'm lost, if you really want to know," said Al-Cid. "I need to get to the Royal Compound."

A sunny smile creased the Seeq's meaty chops. "Right out the door you came in. Follow that to the Moogling…"

"Oh, no," interrupted Al-Cid. "No more Mooglings. This time, we'll walk."

As Tani nearly melted against Al-Cid in relief, the Seeq shrugged. "Okay, then. It's a three-mile walk from here, if you decide to hoof it out that door. You can cut your walk down by two and a half miles if you take the Lowtown path."

"Fine." Al-Cid fished in his rucksack and found his compass. "This passageway runs north to south, yes?"

"Erm, yes it does…for the most part, but…um…" The Seeq nodded to the compass. "Those contraptions don't work too well down here."

Al-Cid gave his compass a withering glare, as the needle whirled fro and aft. "It figures," he grumbled.

The jolly Seeq lifted his chin at an ornate door set deep into the wall to their left. "Talk to Old Dalan. He'll get you through this maze all right."

Before the Seeq could finish his sentence, Al-Cid and Tani were through the little gilt door. The Seeq shook his head. "Maybe Dalan has something – er, _special_ – to calm that bloke's nerves."

-=-=-=-=-=-

The Emperor's private corvette landed on a private pod atop the Compound. The little regent exited his ship, followed closely behind by his personal bodyguard.

The Judge Magister's armor reflected the noontide light. He strode with purpose behind his charge. As his armor-clad feet thumped rapidly across the macadam, his heart beat time in his throat. He could feel the heat of Dalmasca pounding against his armor, as sweat dripped down the small of his back.

The party of two entered the Royal Compound. It was late-morning silent. Basch picked a sure path to their destination, thanks to years of experience. When he opened up the doors to Ashe's Court, he felt a wave of sadness. It nearly overtook him, as he led Larsa through the expansive sitting room, to the tiny door behind the throne. The door led to the true sitting room, where the palaver that mattered was to be held.

 _Remembrance was a tiny creature with sharp teeth,_ he thought to himself. _It kept coming back to nip at your ankles until you screamed for it to stop. Like a mongoose…or a rat._

He took this particular rat by the throat and throttled it to death, as he grasped the ornate door handle, and swung the door on its hinges. _There will be no more desire, Ashe. I tire of this. It's time to let this die._

-=-=-=-=-=-

AL-Cid and Tani walked through the door, uncertainty tingeing the air about them. Al-Cid called out into the dim. "Hello?"

"Here…I am back here," said someone in a grizzled, soupy voice. Al-Cid and Tani smiled at each other, surprise and delight lighting their countenance. Whoever the man was that had spoken, he was most assuredly Rozarrian. "Come in, come in…you are letting all the sweet air out."

Sweet…? Ah, wait. Al-Cid turned his nose into the smoky air, and smelled the wonderful smells of sandalwood and frankincense. There was another odor, thicker and more acrid, under the smells of home, but Al-Cid paid it no mind. To find a piece of the Ambervale in this tiny corner of Rabanastre was more delicious than the finest sweets in a Rozarrian afternoon tea.

The gilt door swung shut, and the air immediately thickened. Through the smoke, the unnamed man drawled, "I was not expecting guests this early. Most of the time, I have some warning before company calls. At the least, I would have aired this old place out." As Al-Cid and Tani approached the rear of the little room, they could see a man wave his hands through the smoky air in pantomime as he smiled expansively. "Sit anywhere you like."

As Al-Cid plopped himself on a cushy divan, Tani stood beside him. Al-Cid reached up, and slapped her bottom affectionately. He turned his face once more to the old man. "What is your name?"

"Call me Dalan," said the old man. "Some of the locals here call me Old Dalan, when they think I am not listening." He smiled, and his grin was a mite sour. "Some people around these parts fancy me…rather dim, I suppose."

"And this is, of course, according to your own whims," said Al-Cid, smiling hugely. "You prefer them to think you addled, so you could listen without them paying you any heed."

Dalan raised one shaggy eyebrow at his kinsman. "You are sharper than _you_ look." He glanced at Tani, and motioned at a plate of delicacies with his pipe. "Eat, my dear…and gain wisdom, yourself."

Al-Cid eyed the plate of fungi Dalan offered, and realized two things: one, the 'sweet air' wasn't the incense that hung in a cloud around their heads, but it was the aromatic smoke that emanated from Dalan's hookah; two, the mushroom dish Dalan offered Al-Cid's 'Bird' definitely wasn't Chocobo Marsala. He touched Tani's hand in warning. "Forgive us, Grandfather," said Al-Cid respectfully, "but we had mushrooms for breakfast."

Dalan spread his hands expansively. "Suit yourself. What brings you here to my hovel, then?"

"Directions, actually, " said Al-Cid. "We need to get to the Royal Compound."

Dalan pursed his lips. "Have you tried the Moogling?"

"Never mind the Moogling," said the noble playboy quickly. "Can we make it there through Lowtown?"

"Turn left after you pass through my little rabbit hole again, friend. From there, you follow your nose. You will make it to North Lowtown, and from there you exit about one hundred yards from the Palace's entrance." Dalan drew on his hookah, and made concentric rings with his exhaled smoke. "Perhaps you need a writ of passage? I can help you with that…"

"No need, Grandfather. We are expected." Al-Cid rose to his feet, and motioned with his chin to the door. Tani followed, being the obedient girl that she was. From the doorway, Al-Cid placed one hand over his heart, and bowed. "Thank you for the directions, and for offering lunch."

"Lunch?" Dalan tamped fresh 'wisdom' into the hookah's thurible. As he lit the noxious, oily sludge, he chuckled through the cloying smoke. "I merely offered you something to take the edge off visiting with royalty." He inclined his head at the rapidly retreating couple. "Good day."

When the door to his little warren slammed shut, he scooped his pet rabbit from its basket into his lap. He stroked its luxuriant pink fur as the rabbit chittered happily. Dalan sighed, and enjoyed another pull from the hookah. "Methinks the youth of Rozarria has become…a bit uptight," he said to the rabbit.

The rabbit did not answer Dalan, as rabbits don't talk.

-=-=-=-=-=-

Opening the tiny door of Ashe's safe haven was a most effective time-machine; Basch still had to duck his head to enter – but in doing so, the diminutive presence to his right transformed without warning from the Emperor of Archadia to the tiny Princess of Dalmasca. He nearly held his hand out to assist the six-year-old princess, before he realized that the little princess was long gone. Instead of offering a comforting handhold, Basch smiled ruefully and held his hand palm-up towards the door. "Highness, after you."

"Thank you, Lord Gabranth," said Larsa. Even in this relative solitude, he would not hazard calling Basch by his given name.

After they ducked through the door, the ceiling raised enough to stand comfortably. Basch stood on his toes and stretched his spine. It crackled, and he grunted. He noticed the armor stand by Ashe's whimsical stained-glass window, and almost groaned with gratitude. He slipped his helmet off, shook his thick blond hair, and dropped the helmet onto the stand with a _thump_. He deftly took his breastplate off and strapped it to the form, and over the din of his double-cursed armor almost did not hear the pattering footsteps as they beat a rapid tattoo towards them…

Penelo barreled into Basch at full-tilt. She flung her arms around his neck, and squeezed. "Uncle! I missed you!"

"So it would seem," said Basch, laughing. He gave her a brusque bear hug in return before he held her at arm's length. "Where is everyone else?"

"In the dining room," said Penelo. She made a face. "It would have been nice to hold palaver here in this room…it's so pretty in here. You almost need two teleport crystals in the dining room to get from one side to the other." She smiled shyly at her 'uncle'. "I waited for you here, so I could tell you where to meet us."

"Thank you." In the silent halls of his own mind, he agreed with Penelo. Of all places to have a reunion brunch, Ashe chose the dining room. It was big enough to feed her entire army. Perhaps she chose the dining room because of the formal air she had begun to take with her comrades. She adopted this new air after she and her friends toppled the Novus.

 _It does not suit her; no, it does not suit her at all,_ thought Basch.

Penelo wrapped her hands around Larsa's forearm in that endearing way she had, and twinkled at the young Emperor. "Larsa, will you come with me? Uncle can meet us in the dining room once he changes into something more suitable for lunch." She nodded to the armor stand, winked disarmingly at Basch, and steered Larsa out the tiny door.

Next to the armor stand was a small armoire, filled to the brim with clothes suitable for visiting dignitaries and Judge Magisters that had come a-calling without a suitcase. He smiled without humor. He remembered this particular armoire. It stood nearly empty in a dusty corner of Ashe's apartments. Perhaps it once held less formal attire for a five-years-dead husband. Perhaps it was this particular armoire that had stood in her apartments, collecting dust and reminding the young Queen of her solitude.

Sighing, he stripped away his armor, then his heavy padded undergarments. Naked, he stood by the open stained-glass window and allowed an errant breeze to ruffle his hair and to cool his hot, flushed skin.

 _This won't end well,_ he thought. He pulled a fine leather vest over a cool cotton undershirt. The sleeves fluttered in the errant breeze. _Better to get this over with as soon as possible…'twill sting less._

-=-=-=-=-=-

Vaan sat at the table, and eyed the giant flan pudding that sat directly before him. He was being good, but it took all his willpower not to dive into the cheerfully smiling pudding head-first. He looked up from his intended dessert and gazed at the empty doorway. They sat in wait for General Basch, but he took his sweet damned time getting his heavily-armored carcass to lunch. Besides the flan, Vaan fairly itched to dive into the latest juicy bit of drama that his friends had cooked up. They were good for that, certainly. He turned a jaundiced eye to Larsa. Oh, he just bet the Emperor knew what was up. If he wasn't surrounded by his friends, he'd have already cornered the boy and wrestled the news out of him.

Larsa knew what Basch's news was, all right. He shared Basch's uncertainty in sharing said news with the Queen of Dalmasca. Ashe could be…erratic at times. Hell, she could be downright frightening. Larsa reached for his wineglass, and drank the lot down. He tapped his fingers against his glass, and frowned. As long as Basch didn't draw this out, they were sure to get back to Archades fully…erm, intact.

 _Might not,_ thought Larsa to himself. _Ashe knows how to hold a grudge…you know that. Your particulars might make it home in a jelly jar…_

Larsa grabbed the bottle of Madhu and poured himself another glassful. He picked it up, and again drank it down. He blinked suddenly, as every single muscle strand in his body un-knotted at once. He slumped in his chair, reached out, and poured himself another glass of liquid courage. He knocked it back, clumsily set the bottle down, and in his haste knocked it over.

What remained in the bottle after Larsa nearly finished it off now sloshed across the damask tablecloth and the freshly laundered cuff of Balthier's pristine-white sark. Balthier, being the prissy neatnik he was, blew an irritated sigh as he waved his arm around to shake off some of the wine.

"Ahh, damn it all…" he started. Not one to tangle with the Emperor of his homeland, he spread his hands, and gave up the ghost. "Whoops. 'Tis a shame to waste such good wine, Lord Larsa."

"Forrrrgive me," said Larsa in a now-drunken slur. He reached out for a napkin, and to add insult to injury, he hooked the candelabra with the trailing end of it. Most of the candles went out when they crashed to the table, but one – and it only takes one, doesn't it? – fell into the tiny puddle of Madhu beside Balthier's sodden shirt-cuff. The entire mess burst into sluggish flames.

 _"Galtea's sagging tits!"_ screamed Balthier, as his shirt caught fire.

Half of the table surged to their feet to beat at Balthier's smoldering arm. Vaan managed to pull Balthier's shirt over his head, popping three buttons in the process. One of the buttons hit Fran smack-dab in the eye. She yowled, and stood up with such suddenness that she tipped the table.

The flan hopped on its plate once, and then it became airborne. It twirled in the air once, twice, before dumping itself on Penelo's lap.

She squeaked, and stood before the custard and caramel could soak itself into her good pantaloons. The flan dropped to the floor with a revolting _squelch!_

Vaan's previous actions must have dislodged a spark or two from the cotton shirt. They most likely floated upward (as sparks are wont to do) and settled on Balthier's head. A tiny tendril of smoke curled from Balthier's carefully combed coif. His face registered supreme incredulity, as his hand slowly rose to his head. Before he could pat out the flame, Fran strode up behind him and dumped a bucket of half-melted ice on his head.

Balthier gasped once. He slowly turned to face Fran, the incredulous look never leaving his face. "Thanks," he said faintly.

A terrible, deep silence descended upon the dining room. The numbing silence was broken only by the sound of someone clearing his throat in the doorway. Basch stood, blinking at the carnage that lunch had become. "I suppose my news can wait," he said, glancing around. "It will have to, as Al-Cid is not here yet."

"What does having Al-Cid here have to do with anything?" Ashe frowned distractedly, as her servants made haste to set lunch to rights. "You're not pledging your undying love to him, are you?"

Basch crimsoned as he sat to the right of Larsa, and silence settled like snow around them again. In it, Ashe's fine servants scurried to re-set the table, to find another dessert (much to Vaan's supreme disapproval), and to fetch Balthier another shirt. Balthier excused himself to change.

After all was set to rights, the silence deepened, and the diners fidgeted in their chairs.

Larsa tapped his forefingers together. The suspense was killing him. In his drunkenness, he forgot his station and elbowed Basch in the ribs. When Basch proved to be his stubborn self, Larsa addressed the rest of the attendees.

"Lord Gabranth wants to share his news," said Larsa. He nodded to Basch with a hint of uncertainty. "Will you share with everyone, Judge Magister?" _Get it over with,_ he mouthed to his knight.

Basch raised his eyebrows at his charge. Recovering quickly from the shock, he hesitated a brief moment before he squared his shoulders and addressed his folded hands. "I am betrothed. I will be wed next Spring."

Stunned silence greeted Basch's statement. Penelo's jaw thumped to her breastbone. "You...really?"

Ashe leapt to her feet, her body taking on a mind of its own. "Married? You…what?"

Basch raised his eyes to meet Ashe's – and was that _resentment_ Ashe saw seething within his cool blue eyes? "Yes, Majesty."

Ashe could think of nothing to say, so she repeated herself. _"What?"_

Thinly veiled contempt laced his voice. "Does this surprise Her Highness?"

"You could say that," she replied acerbically. "I take my eyes off you for a moment..."

His eyes widened in shock and disgust. "Two years, Ashelia. It has been two _years_!"

The Emperor of Archades cleared his throat. "Perhaps I was wrong…this conversation would be better suited for after lunch." he took up the nearly empty bottle of Madhu and sucked back the remainder. His arm turned into warm taffy, and the bottle crashed to the floor. In the din, no one noticed.

The Queen of Dalmasca ignored Lord Larsa's hastily whispered words. "I wrote to you, not one month ago!" Ashe's countenance resembled an old bed-sheet. "Surely you received my letter!"

Counterpoint to the Queen's ashen complexion, Basch's face had gone an ugly plum shade. "I did, Majesty. 'Twas a form letter, accepting my invitation for lunch today...and it wasn't even in your handwriting. Your _scribe_ wrote it!"

"But surely...you and I have spoken on numerous occasions before that! There was my coronation, and our glorious Independence Day – no offense, Lord Larsa..."

The Emperor of Archadia flapped his hand at the Queen of Dalmasca. "Norn turban," replied Larsa soggily.

Ashe returned her stare to the 'Judge Magister'. "There was my birthday, and last year's Yule – and cherry-picking season, you were here for that – Gods. How can you conveniently forget something like that, and humiliate me in front of our friends?"

"You and I have spoken before, yes. I was Lord Gabranth, and you were Queen of Dalmasca. You have not addressed me by my true name in God knows how long." He pressed his lips together into a hard, white line. " _I_ remember the last time you called me by my name...and _that_ was two years ago."

"Not a good time to talk of such things," said Fran, as she rubbed her eye. She snatched her napkin from her lap, and draped it over her still-steaming, fresh meal. "The tipsy Emperor is correct. Some other time, Judge Magister."

Ashe ignored Fran and everyone else in the expansive room, save one. "How dare you!"

Basch's eyes narrowed dangerously. "I'll not take blame for this. I must live my life, even if it means living it without you."

"Perhaps this was one event I should not have been fashionably late for," said a voice from the doorway of the dining room. All present turned sharply at the sound of Al-Cid Margrace's voice. He swept in, Tani in tow, and slid a chair out from under the table. Instead of holding the chair out for his 'Bird', he turned it backwards and straddled it.

The diminutive woman of House Margrace made no move to sit herself – rather, she crossed the expansive room to where Basch sat. She stood before him for many silent moments before she bowed deeply to the Judge.

Basch brightened at her odd behavior, before doing something that perplexed everyone present. He stood, and took her hand. He smiled shyly at the little 'Bird'. "'Tis you," he said quietly.

The Queen of Dalmasca surged to her feet. " _This_ is your betrothed? A _servant_? I am spurned…for _this_?"

Tani gasped, and her lips quivered in horror and humiliation. Basch stood, fury intermingling with disgust on his countenance. It was _ugly_. "Do _not_ say such things!"

"You speak overmuch, Lady Ashelia," said Al-Cid. The corners of his lips turned downward, and his face darkened further. "She may be employed by House Margrace, but she is as noble as the Judge Magister."

Disgusted laughter greeted this. " _Noble?_ You know as well as I, Al-Cid, just how 'noble' our illustrious Judge Magister truly is. If anyone found out his true nature, a bounty higher than the storehouses of both our families combined would be on his head faster than you could blink."

Silent…silent. The horrified silence was palpable.

Al-Cid nodded once, slowly. "Yes, I suppose so. The Judge's betrothed knows who he is, and she knows the dangers inherent in taking his hand. She is still willing…and so is he."

Ashe covered her mouth with trembling hands, and fled the room. Basch watched her go. He turned to Tani, and whispered something in her ear. Tani nodded, and released his hand. Basch heaved a mighty sigh and strode after his erstwhile lover.

In the fresh silence, Vaan laced his fingers behind his head, thankful that this new insanity wasn't of his doing. "Check, please," he said cheekily.

-=-=-=-=-=-

After changing his clothes and drying off, Balthier decided to give lunch a miss. He would catch up on whatever news Basch had for his friends when the tumult died down in the dining room.

In the meantime, he browsed the bookshelves in Ashe's expansive sitting room. His eyes alit upon an ancient, battered copy of _The Book of Orgain-Cent_ , and he grinned. He must have been three or four the last time his father opened their own timeworn copy of the book and read to little Ffamran the stories contained therein. He rubbed dust from the gilt lettering on the spine, and smiled wistfully. He loved this ancient tome so much, his father didn't even have to open the book; by the time Ffamran was five, Bunansa the Older and Bunansa the Younger knew all the words written on those parchment leaves by heart.

He slid the book from its place on the bookshelf, and dropped onto an overstuffed armchair to read. He hooked his reading glasses from his vest pocket, and made a small, unconscious _moue_. For as long as he could remember, his own father wore glasses. Even as a child, he understood that he would most likely need them, too. Still, he cursed them with every curse he knew. He considered them a detriment – and therefore, a weakness – something that could be used against him.

Hated specs donned, he cracked open the book with care. If his own childhood copy was any indication, this one was probably printed when Hector was a baby. Acrid dust puffed from the arid pages. Balthier waved his hand before his face and sneezed once, twice. He muttered a vile oath before bending his head to the pages.

Two sentences into _Chapter One: The Knight_ , all hell broke loose.

"That son of a _bitch_!" That came from the foyer. Balthier hunched deeper into the armchair. He busied himself with the first paragraph. If he was going to walk Memory Lane, then by the Gods he wasn't going to be interrupted doing so!

Hurried, angry footsteps pattered up the hallway and grew louder as the owner of said feet approached the sitting room. Balthier willed the feet to pick up the pace and pass him with no incident. Apparently Lady Luck had abandoned him tonight.

The sitting room door flew open hard enough to bounce off the wall beside it. Ashe stomped into the room, swung the door shut with a resounding slam, and flopped onto the loveseat. She twined her fingers together and wrung her hands. She muttered under her breath about a stubborn mule ( _I wonder who_ that _is_ , thought Balthier sardonically) and the myriad things she would do to said stubborn mule if he did not do what she wished.

Another set of feet clomped noisily down the hallway, as Ashe muttered ominously about Iron Maidens and water torture and The Rack. Before Balthier even had time to wish Basch away from his temporary sanctuary, the Judge Magister slammed the door open. His eyes roamed the room in quick jerks. His gaze settled on Balthier for one mere moment – Balthier wasn't even sure Basch had registered his presence – before he found the Queen. His hand shot out from his side, and he pointed at Ashe with one accusatory finger. "You!"

Ashe flushed as she sneered at Basch. "What _about_ me?"

Balthier cleared his throat, and both Queen and Judge ignored him. Basch's face had taken on an ugly gray shade, and his hands trembled minutely. That tremble found its way into his voice. "You are a conniving, jealous little brat!"

The Queen rose to her feet in a quick, flowing motion, and approached Basch. "You dare speak so to me?"

The burly Knight crossed his arms over his chest. "I do. You had no right to speak to the girl the way you did today, Queen or no. She did not deserve the humiliation."

Ashe's eyes flashed. "Do _you_?"

Her words brought Basch up short. He glared at his erstwhile lover. "What do you mean?"

"Do you think you were destined to marry a servant?" Ashe jabbed a finger into his chest. "Do you think it's fair that you marry someone beneath your station?"

" _I_ am _a servant!_ In case you haven't noticed, I will be Lord Larsa's servant until my dying day." Basch shook his head slowly. "I never expected you, of all people, to stoop so low as to humiliate Al-Cid's kin."

Balthier cleared his throat again, more insistently. Again, he was ignored.

"You lower yourself by accepting this proposal, Basch!"

"You say that, because you wish it had been _you_! You had your chance, Lady Ashelia!"

Ashe took on a haughty air that made Basch's teeth hurt. "You think too highly of yourself, Judge Magister. You were good enough to dally with, but I would have lowered _myself,_ had I accepted a proposal from you."

The Judge's face blanched. " _Damn you to Hell!_ You kick me to the ground, and stab me in the heart when I am down!"

_”You deserve it!"_

Balthier sighed melodramatically, and rolled his head onto the armchair's back. "I think I'm going to find somewhere else to finish this," said Balthier to no one in particular, as he snapped the book shut.

The arguing pair whipped about when they realized they had an audience. Ashe turned an interesting shade of carmine. "Oh...Balthier! We...I didn't see you there!"

The smooth sky pirate rose from his armchair, and ambled to the door. As he walked through the open doorway, he glanced over his shoulder. "Name-calling is fair game, but no hitting allowed."

They stood facing each other, uncertainty and anger writ plain upon their faces. Ashe crossed her arms. "You didn't plan on telling me until you told the others. Why?"

"Should I have?" Basch mirrored her body language. "You may be royalty, Ashelia, but I don't think that means you need to know every single facet of my life...not anymore."

"This is a facet of _my_ life, too!" Ashe advanced on Basch. "I have every right to know about this! I would not have willingly given myself to you, had I known you would do this to me."

His eyes flashed. "So this is _my_ fault, now?"

"Yes!" She pushed her face pugnaciously into his. "You were willing to wait before...why the change of heart?"

He narrowed his eyes at Dalmasca's Queen. "When was the last time you tried to connect with me? When did you write your last letter? When did you come to visit me?"

"I..."

"Never," he finished for Ashe. "You've never written to me, except to answer one of my own missives. You've never come to Archades to see me, but I made a conscious effort to visit _you_ , Ashelia."

"But..."

Basch's face contorted into a mask of anguish. "I was _lonely_!" Basch balled his hands into fists, and began to pace the sumptuous Bhujerban carpets. "You wanted nothing to do with me for almost two years, even though I pined for you. I needed closeness from someone – _anyone!_ – as you wouldn't have anything more to do with me."

Basch stopped for one brief moment, and ran his hands through his short blond hair He could not meet her eyes. "You know that I am in love with you. You gave me your body; I didn't think it was necessary to hide that fact. I told you how I felt about you when we last made love, and since then you have made every effort to separate yourself from me."

"I never said I _didn't_ love you, Basch," said Ashe slowly. "As Queen, however, I could not profess this love to you publicly. It would have been scandalous."

"You never said you _did_ love me either, in public _or_ in private," Basch countered. "That was what hurt me the most." Basch pursed his lips, and said what he _knew_ would hurt. "I wouldn't have found my affianced alone. This was arranged by a higher power."

Ashe narrowed her eyes at Basch. "Who?"

A pained snort of laughter escaped from Basch's mouth. "Lord Larsa is sharp for a fifteen-year-old. He could see how lonely I was, and spoke to Al-Cid Margrace in my stead. It turned out that he knew of a woman in his household that had a sizable dowry, who was still unmarried. They approached me, and I decided that an arranged marriage might be the best solution." He scowled at Ashe. "And if you must know, I've never even met the woman before. Our marriage was arranged, but that will not stop me from cleaving to her, and she to me."

Ashe stood her ground, her breath tearing in and out of her lungs, in an effort to stay the tears of humiliation. When that was under control, she let loose another barb. "You've not mentioned the name of your affianced...do you even know it?"

This gave him brief pause. He stared at his restless feet. Basch's face remained stony as he turned it to Ashe's, but a sneaking, telling flush escaped his collar. After many pregnant moments, his lips twisted in a scowl. He turned his back on Ashe, pacing again, and she strode after him.

"It doesn't matter whether I know her name now, or not," said Basch to the bookcases. "I will know it soon enough."

She grasped his elbow, and pulled at it in an effort to make him stop. "You changed your mind about who you would share your heart with, did you? How long did that take, General?"

He stopped pacing and favored Ashe with a withering glare. "Too long, Majesty."

Her small, manicured hand whickered as she slapped him. "Bastard! I'll not allow you to blame me for your abandonment...not for one moment!"

He stood his ground as he rubbed his reddened, stinging cheek. " _Never_. I never abandoned you."

Ashe furrowed her brows. "You gave up on me...on us. I'm not sure what the difference is."

Mouth set in a grim line, he nodded slowly. "Perhaps I did give up on us. 'Twas a losing battle, at any rate."

"Why?" Moved by the hurt in his voice, she reached out to touch his scarred face. "Why do you say this?"

His rough hands rose to stop her touch, but he made no move to release her. "You were meant for so much better than me. You are Queen, now."

"That's just it," said Ashe, bristling further. She wrenched her hands free. "I am Queen, and a woman grown. I can choose whomever I wish!"

"Not me, Ashelia," said Basch. "Don't choose me. I carry far too much baggage, and I will not let you shoulder any more responsibility than you already have." Basch let his arms drop to his sides. "I understand, now, why you did not continue to correspond with me. It did not take precedence over more pressing matters. I wasn't going to burden you with my ongoing presence...and I will remain steadfast in that regard."

"You won't give me a choice in the matter?" Ashe made a sour face, and answered her question without giving Basch a chance to. "Of course you won't. You are as stubborn as a mule."

The moments wound out between them, creating a chasm that neither was willing to cross. In the silence that followed, Ashe let her burning gaze drop. She tucked an errant strand of hair behind one ear. "Why didn't you tell me before?"

"I...did not want to shame myself, or you." He gazed at his boot-tops. "You've seen me as the _Übermensch_ since you were a child... _I_ thought I was the _Übermensch,_ but I had one weakness. You. I did not wish you to bear witness to this weakness any further. 'Twas my hubris that brought us to this, I think."

"And mine, as well," said Ashe. "Perhaps it was a part of me from my own childhood that refused to let you go. Even as I distanced myself from you, I would not release you." Ashe's eyes filled with easy tears. "This is my fault."

Basch's face softened; he finally allowed his arms to wind around Ashe's trembling shoulders. He drew her close. "Don't take on so. What we'd shared two years ago was glorious, but fleeting. I should never have allowed myself to believe that it would last forever."

"It _could_ have, if it weren't for my pride." Ashe sniffled once. Basch disengaged his arms long enough to hand her a handkerchief. "Because of my ascension, I believed you lower than me. Even as I pined for you, I forced the distance between you and myself."

Her tears doubled, trebled. "I am a fool. You are one of the reasons I was able to ascend the throne in the first place." She wrapped her arms around his middle once more. Basch dropped his cheek on the crown of Ashe's head. They stood that way for many untold minutes, heart to heart.

Basch was the first to break the tender embrace. He took a deep breath. "We ought to return to the dining room. Our guests likely think we've killed each other by now." His words had the desired effect; Ashe's laughter burbled through her tears. After Ashe's watery chuckles died down, Basch remained as sober as ever. "Besides, my betrothed awaits. Starting today, I begin the task of getting to know her better."

"Wait." Ashe dashed the remaining tears on her cheek away with the heel of her hand. "Allow me this once conceit before we go."

He nodded, non-plussed. "What is it?"

"Tell me," said Ashe, "tell me the honest truth...do you really want to marry this girl?"

Basch smiled sadly at the Queen of Dalmasca. He said nothing, as he slowly brought his arm up and presented his elbow to Ashe. She took it with a pang.

"Shall we?" said Basch.

-=-=-=-=-=-

When they re-entered the dining room, Al-Cid stood suddenly and accosted the pair. "I wish to have words with you, Lady Ashe," he said.

"Go ahead, berate me as much as you like. I deserve it." Ashe glanced up at Basch, and smiled. "It took a good friend to point out to me that I have forgotten what true nobility is."

Al-Cid rolled his eyes, and snorted sarcastically. "Ugh, fine. Take all the fun out of this, why don't you."

"Sorry."

"Actually, I wanted to talk to you about something you said." Al-Cid motioned to Tani with his chin. "You said Tani was low...common. She is not. She may be a servant in the House of Margrace, but it doesn't lessen her nobility one iota. Methinks she has more noble blood in her veins than your paramour."

Ashe shook her head. "He is _not_ my paramour."

Al-Cid grin was humorless. "And that little show you two put on for us wasn't a lovers' spat." He shrugged. "Whatever gets you through the night."

"That's – hic! – what _she_ said," quipped Larsa. He hiccuped once again, and let his head drop to the damask tablecloth.

"Tani...are you truly noble?" said Basch with a gentle smile. Tani nodded to her fiance and returned the shy expression. When she did, Basch's face fell. "Al-Cid," he said, never taking his eyes off his affianced, " _I_ am common."

"You're not common, you silly man," said Al-Cid. "You are a Judge Magister. It bestowed upon you the rank of nobility, whether you are of common blood or not. Was Basch not General of Dalmasca's armies in his lifetime?"

"Basch was indeed noble due to his employ, Al-Cid," said Ashe. She addressed Al-Cid's 'Bird'. "Forgive me, Tani. I had no idea you were also noble."

"Lord Gabranth is – and General Basch fon Ronsenburg _was_ – noble due to their employ, Lady Ashe. Tani, on the other hand, is noble through her birth station. My family bestowed nobility upon hers many years ago, and she carries on the revered duties her mother had, and her mother's mother, and so on...or so she would have, if it weren't for Lord Larsa's plea to help his Judge Magister find true love."

Larsa wobbled to his feet. "Now see here, Al-Cid," said the potted Royal, "I was merely trying to help a friend who was lonesome."

"Lord Larsa, perhaps it would be best if you just took a nap..." began Basch.

"Pish-posh," said Larsa. "It's common knowledge that you held a flame for Lady Ashelia."

Basch turned purple. He addressed Al-Cid in an effort to save face. "If marrying Tani means she cannot perform the familial duties expected of her, then perhaps it is best she and I did not marry at all."

Ashe glanced at Tani...and was that a triumphant, smug grin on Tani's face?

"I take it you are not as willing to marry my 'Bird' as you were last month," said Al-Cid. He grinned faintly. "What's wrong with her?"

"Nothing at all," said Basch testily. "I merely said I did not want to keep her from her duties. I will remain lonely, if it means she does what she is destined to do. Who said I didn't _want_ to marry her?"

At the expansive table, Larsa's expression became shifty, and he cut his gaze to the far side of the room. This did not escape Al-Cid. "Besides your actions and the actions of your lover, my dear Judge Magister? Your charge did."

Basch's eyes rolled shut. When they got back to Archades, he and the little Emperor were going to have a little chat. "I can't understand why. I've said nothing to him that would suggest that I didn't want to marry my affianced." He blinked suddenly. "And Ashe is _not_ my lover."

"Truly you think us blind, Judge Magister? Your heart obviously belongs to another." Al-Cid nodded to the Queen. "I can understand you must follow your heart, Judge Magister, but at the very least you could have told us you could not marry my Tani."

"There is nothing _to_ say!" Basch glanced at Ashe. "The Queen and I have reached an accord, and I am free to be with whomever I wish...as is she."

Tani, mostly forgotten in their argument, crossed her arms. When will they ask _her_ what _she_ wanted? Not that she was upset with the way this situation was turning. If her affianced spurned her...

"Al-Cid," said Ashe suddenly, "you said that Tani's mother's mother's mother's...erm, et-cetera...was bestowed with nobility in part because of what she had done for your House. What exactly were those duties?"

"Ah, glad you asked," said Al-Cid. "Her great-great-great-great grandmother was First Concubine to House Margrace. Tani's family line has, from antiquity, helped breathe new life into the bloodline of House Margrace. The woman was revered as nobility for her selflessness, as is every single First Concubine since then."

Ashe and Basch stood side by side, mouths agape, stunned into silence. Basch made a tiny noise in his throat, and hazarded a glance at his affianced. She stood proudly beside Al-Cid, her honor writ plain upon her face.

" _Selflessness_?" said Ashe faintly.

"She gave birth to thirty-seven children, between the ages of thirteen and fifty," said Al-Cid proudly, his eyes misting. "She was the reason we allow all of our House concubines to retire with grace and honor by the age of fifty." Al-Cid shrugged, a mite uncomfortably. "Most concubines don't last that long, anyway."

Basch turned an ugly shade of green. "She gave birth...in every single year of her mature life?"

Al-Cid snorted with mirth. "Of course she didn't. Besides the child-free years she had to herself, she was not alone in rearing her children. The lesser concubines help rear the First Concubine's offspring. 'Tis an honor to help the First..."

Ashe ground her teeth. "How many times, Al-Cid?"

Al-Cid grunted. "Right, right. She gave birth to sixteen singletons, six sets of twins, and three sets of triplets."

"She gave birth twenty-five times? That's... _barbaric_ ," Basch whispered. "Don't these girls have any say in the matter? You mentioned it was her station to carry on her family's obligations. Is this something she truly would want?"

Aghast, Al-Cid tutted. "Of course this is what she would want. It is one of the highest stations a noble-woman can attain in House Margrace. In fact, when news of her arranged marriage reached her, Tani was quite put out by it. Be thankful she wanted to give up her lot in life for you, Judge Magister Gabranth."

His mouth full of bread pudding, Vaan mumbled, "How do you know that's what she wanted? She doesn't say a word."

Al-Cid could not retort, as the little brat spoke the truth. He spread his hands, and ignored Vaan. "In any case, a great percentage of children born into House Margrace are born from the First Concubine. Unfortunately, I was not one of them. This is why I am not in line for the throne. Due to the fact that most children are born from the concubines, we are all in a sense related in some way."

" _Related_?" said Basch thinly.

"Mm-hmm," said the swarthy nobleman. "Tani is my third cousin, once – no, _twice_ – removed. There is enough variety in the bloodline thanks to the Concubines, so it's a rarity when too-close relations happen with your...mmm, relations. If a young nobleman was ready to start a family, the Record-Keepers carefully calculate just how related one is to your chosen Concubine. As I said, I was born to a lesser concubine, so I have the opportunity to be joined with any of the greater ones – Tani included. I am in my father's good books right now, so it is a very good bet that I will receive the blessings of the First Concubine when I am ready..."

Al-Cid blinked, and glanced at Tani from the corner of his eye. "Oh...is that why you didn't want to do...this?" He waved his hand dismissively at Basch.

Tani stepped closer to Al-Cid, and took his hand. She nodded.

Pleased, Al-Cid said, "Oh, I...oh. I see." He granted her a lopsided grin. "I'm not quite ready to, just yet, but when the time comes..."

Tani nodded again, and Al-Cid spread his hands expansively. He grinned at Basch, and tilted his head at Ashe. "So! It seems that you are free of your obligations, Lord Gabranth. Will you waste this opportunity?"

The harried Judge pinched the bridge of his nose. "Just like that, everything is fixed, eh?"

"Of course," said Al-Cid. "Everyone is happy." He leaned close to Basch, and nodded. "You don't have to play the role of the martyr anymore. Take what is rightfully yours, and don't let go."

Smiling bemusedly, Basch held his hand out to his Queen. "I'd like to start over, Lady Ashe. We can begin this anew, become friends once again, and maybe...one day...?"

She took his proffered hand. "Yes...yes. I'd like that very much."

With his free hand, he stroked her cheek. "Unless, of course, there is an opening for a First Concubine in your Court. I am willing to broaden my horizons."

"I ought to have you beheaded for that," said Ashe, a teasing lilt to her voice. She stepped lightly into his arms, and held him close. She smiled into his chest. "Be thankful I am merciful...because I am most certainly not blood-squeamish."

Al-Cid, taken aback, grumbled under his breath. "A male concubine? How ridiculous!" He craned his neck to the open dining room door.

Larsa blinked. "What is it, Al-Cid?"

"Well, today I've met with the Cheshire Cat, the Caterpillar, the White Knight, and the Red Queen. I'm waiting for the Titmouse and the March Hare to show up, as the _rest_ of you are all as mad as hatters." He turned to Tani once more, as he donned his smoky specs. "Well, my sweet little Bird…what have you to say about this mess?"

Tani twined her hands around his arm, dropped her head on his shoulder, and opened her mouth for the first time in Al-Cid's memory. "I got nothing."

Fin


End file.
